Obsession
by MerlinsGlow
Summary: Months of love notes and gifts from a secret admirer have gone ignored until Draco is a no show for his valentine's dinner with Hermione.. When friends turn enemies, can Hermione find him before the night is done. Or will obsession win? #3 Entry for DFW's Triwizard Cup.


Written for the Dramione Fanfiction Writer's Triwizard Fest, Entry #3.

**_Authors: Disenchantedglow & msmerlin13_**

Disclaimer: We do not own any of the characters from the Wizarding World Franchise.

* * *

**Obsession**

* * *

**14 February 2000 **

**7:50pm**

"Fuck," Draco moaned as he slowly opened his eyes, trying to take stock of his body and surroundings. He felt like he'd been beaten with a bludger. Everything ached. His face throbbed, his arms screamed, and each time he took a breath, it felt like his ribs were going to split in two. His mind felt like it was moving as slowly as a snail when he tried to recall anything that would explain why he felt like walking death. He had no recollection beyond getting ready to leave the office that evening. Everything after that seemed fuzzy, like someone had eroded his memories. As he shifted to try to find a more comfortable position, he hissed in pain, his right shoulder screaming at the movement as he felt the zing of magical bindings holding his wrists behind his back. Draco's eyes opened wide in terror, immediately shutting again tightly as even the dim light from the room caused a shooting pain to erupt behind the orbital nerve of his right eye, adding to his agony.

_Merlin's balls. What the bloody hell happened?_ His spine screamed for relief as he slumped further back into the uncomfortable chair. His senses were dulled, but he definitely knew he wasn't in his flat. For starters, he would never own such a dreadfully uncomfortable chair, but more importantly, his flat never smelt like this: dust, mold, and the distinctly nauseating smell of rotting parchment.

A fine layer of sweat began to break out on his skin as the pain intensified, almost compelling him to empty the contents of his stomach. The sweat caused the soft cotton of his oxford to stick to his chest, only adding to his discomfort. He sat in relative silence; only the sound of his heavy breathing could be heard echoing around him as he tried to will himself to calm down and figure out what exactly had happened.

It was only when he began to go back through the events of the day that he realised he was still wearing his work clothes. That was odd. He had planned on taking Granger out to that little Italian bistro she favoured for Valentine's Day. If they had actually been so uncouth as to have gotten pissed and passed out in their clothes, he should at least be feeling the soothing cool silk of his dress shirt. And he most definitely wouldn't be tied to what he was considering the world's most uncomfortable fucking chair.

His mind ticked along, slowly moving from one thought to the other until it all came to a screeching halt as reality sunk in. If he was here—wherever the fuck he was—where the bloody hell was Granger? Draco's mind focused, attempting to draw up the Occlumency shields that Severus had taught him, despite the nauseating pain it caused. He was rusty—he really had no need to utilize the skill now since the only known Legilimens in England had all died in the war. But one by one, the mental barriers went up, slowly but precisely. Like lining up dominos, they formed a protective layer around his mind that seemed to dull the ache of pain. He needed a clear mind to figure out what was going on and to make sure Hermione was alright. He could deal with his pain later.

His neck was bent at an awkward angle, and he could feel a trickle of wetness trailing down his cheek and dripping off of his chin. The droplets landed on the collar of his shirt with a muted _splat_. "Bloody hell," he whispered, making an internal promise that whoever did this was not going to live to see next week, especially if they had hurt Hermione. Slowly opening his eyes once again, no longer fearing the earth-shattering pain from before, Draco tried to look around the room. The vision of his left eye cleared relatively quickly, but his right eye seemed to only open halfway, costing him valuable peripheral sight.

"Oh, good, love—you're awake!"

The feminine voice and the feel of her fingertips brushing against his mangled shoulder blade sent a shiver of fear down Draco's spine. That voice. He knew that voice. He had only heard it almost every day for the past three years. Except now it seemed different. Her tone was more reminiscent of Umbridge than someone he had considered an ally.

"I was starting to worry when you didn't wake up after the first _Rennervate_," the saccharine voice confessed as she continued trailing her nails along his back and up around his neck as she came around to face him. The click of her high heels was almost inaudible over the sound of his heart beat pounding in his ears. "I wouldn't have wanted to permanently damage you—you're perfection. And I definitely wouldn't want to ruin that perfection—though, if I had to, I would."

Draco jerked his face to the right in an attempt to escape her touch as she intimately caressed his cheek, wiping off the crimson liquid trail that he was now sure was his own blood. He couldn't pull away as far as he wanted—he still felt her trailing fingers ghost across his cheek—but the small jerking movement was just enough to turn her faint smile into a frown. In response she tapped his face twice, not quite hard enough to hurt, but definitely forceful enough to let him know she was decidedly displeased by his obvious desire to get out from under her hold.

She took a step back, staring into his stormy gray eyes. Her pupils were blown so wide he could hardly make out the brown of her iris. He watched fire consume them, her rage bubbling over, and her fingers flexing with untampered fury. He was seconds away from another slap—or worse—but as suddenly as the storm began, it disappeared. The anger vanished from her eyes in an instant, her pupils contracting back to their normal size, and she was smiling brightly again. She raised her fingers to her lipstick smeared mouth, her pink tongue darting out to lick the red stains of his blood from her skin.

"I've always loved your haughty pride, Draco. It's one of the things that first drew me to you all the way back in fourth year, but I'm sure you already knew that, didn't you?" She licked her fingers again, rolling her tongue around her digits, making sure to clean every last drop of his blood. "Mmmm, is there anything better than the taste of pure magical blood? Perfection."

Draco could only stare at her as he began to panic behind his Occlumency shied. She was his personal assistant—his friend! And now, his kidnapper.

"Padma, what the _fuck_ is going on?"

* * *

**14 February 2000**

**8:23pm**

He was twenty-three minutes late. Twenty-three fucking minutes late to their first Valentine's Day dinner. She was going to hex him—no, she was going to fucking murder him. It was bad enough that he had a habit of waltzing in late to their dates more often than not, but on Valentine's Day? That just made it even worse than usual. She had even worn a pair of Slytherin-green knickers especially for him, for Merlin's sake! They were a far cry from her normal cotton bikini cut, but she figured why not? It was a special night. So what if they cut into her hips? So what if they exposed her entire arse to the cold February night? She'd do it for him. She'd give him a little surprise when they made it back to his flat for a post-date sleep over. Of course, now all she could think about was how she was going to wrap them around his neck and strangle him with the uncomfortable pair of lacey knickers.

Hermione's fingers drummed impatiently on the white linen covered tabletop as she watched the clock on the far wall tick by. The second hand seemed to mock her as it worked its way around the clock face. Pursing her lips together, she glanced at the approaching waiter who wore a sympathetic smile. "He'll be here any minute," she assured the brunette, who nodded solemnly with soft pitying eyes that told her he didn't believe her. Well, fuck him, and fuck Malfoy, too, for showing up late—YET AGAIN—to what was supposed to be a romantic night. Reaching out, she wrapped her fingers around the stem of the large glass of red wine that sat in front of her, and she tipped back the contents, gulping down every last sip before rising from the table.

Snatching her shawl from the back of her chair and her clutch from the tabletop, Hermione snapped open the small black handbag and put a stack of Galleons that was enough to cover the cost of her single glass of wine and then some before she moved to leave the restaurant. Red heels snapped against the tiled floor as she made her hurried exit. The hostess didn't even bother to try and stop her; Hermione was on a warpath, and her intended target was her selfish idiot of a boyfriend who made it fucking impossible to make dinner plans that weren't impromptu.

'_I have a business to run, love.' 'Work was crazy.' 'I'll make it up to you.' 'Here, have this stack of new books I bought you.' _It was the same damn story every single time, but she wasn't going to be swayed by his delectable mouth again. She was going to be upset. She was going to tell him how bloody angry she was. And most importantly, she was going to shag him senseless because dammit, it was Valentine's Day, and she wore special knickers just for him!

She wrapped the shawl around her bare shoulders as she exited the restaurant, but the cold February wind still bit at her skin through the flimsy material as she hurried toward the apparition point at the end of the alley. She had reminded him earlier not to be late! She had purposely stopped by with a cup of his favorite bergamot tea and a scone from the café by her flat. _'Don't be late. This is important to me,'_ she'd told him. It was obvious now that her warning had done little to help, especially since Padma had been home ill today. That witch was probably the only reason he showed up to half of his meetings on time! Damnit! She knew when she walked into the office and saw Padma's desk empty that she should have just canceled the reservation and instead shown up to Draco's office with take out and a bottle of wine. But she had hoped that communicating how special she wanted this day to be would have been enough to pull his head out from running Malfoy Enterprises when the clock struck seven.

On reaching the apparition point, Hermione wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the creeping cold, and with her destination in mind, she twisted away. The magical pull began at her navel, swirling her body until she was lost in the rushing feeling of traveling through space before she landed with a loud crack in the lobby of her boyfriend's office building. Only a lone security guard sat behind the desk. The resounding noise from her magic obviously shocked him awake, because he fumbled to put his cap back on the crown of his balding head as he scrambled to put his loafered feet on the floor.

"Miss Granger," he managed after clearing his throat, "you look all dolled up this evening."

"Alfie." Flashing the elderly man a forced smile and a nod of her head, she moved quickly through the empty security point. "Thank you."

"Mr. Malfoy late again?" he questioned, rising from his chair and walking out into the hallway so he could watch her move to the lift.

Hermione was never more thankful that her back was to the elderly wizard than right in that moment. Her eyes rolled skyward as she jammed her finger into the call button and sighed heavily. "Unfortunately." She heard a low whistle of disbelief echo down the hallway towards her, and as the lift doors opened before her with a ding, she moved inside, offering Alfie a small wave.

Sixteen floors and two minutes later, Hermione walked into the lobby of the penthouse office ready to rip her boyfriend to shreds. She expected to see his office light on and his door wide open with him bent over his desk reading a proposal. He would have already removed his tie and had his oxford rolled up to his elbows. An unruly bit of pure blond fringe would hang across his forehead, and he would look up to her with those big grey eyes like pools of molten ash and flash her a cocky grin. He'd tell her he was sorry, and then he'd wrap her in his arms, and the world would feel right in an instant. What she did _not_ expect to walk into was what looked like a crime scene.

Her body slowed to a stop at the edge of his foyer. Padma's desk was askew, her papers thrown about, and the door to Draco's office was wide open. A lamp was broken, his chair and awards scattered. What worried her most was that in the middle of the room, surrounded by files and loose parchment, sat the mahogany framed photo of her that was usually hidden in the top drawer of Draco's desk. The glass protecting the photo was shattered, and her moving portrait looking upset as she shied away from the shards of glass that were damaging the image. Smeared on the bottom left of the frame, deep red and beginning to dry, was a very concerning amount of blood.

* * *

**14 February 2000**

**9:45pm**

Draco watched the manic witch with growing unease as she paced in front of him. She was wielding a knife that even from a distance he could sense was imbued with Dark Magic. He had worked with Padma for nearly three years and had known her for the seven years at Hogwarts before that—Slytherins and Ravenclaw not having the same animosity towards each other as Slytherin and Gryffindor—and never once had he seen her like this. It was hard to believe she was the same person who sat behind the reception desk in his office and helped keep his work and his sanity on track. If it wasn't for the massive scar on the right side of her cheek, Draco would almost think she was her twin instead of the woman he had come to think so fondly of.

"Padma." His voice was low and calming, trying to use his words alone to bring her back down to reality. "You need to let me go. I won't press charges—I swear it—but you need to let me go."

Padma let out a hollow laugh, her head tipping back as if his plea was the funniest thing she had heard all day. "Let you go? Why would I ever do that, Drakey?" Turning the full force of her dark brown eyes on him, she cocked her head to the side. "You're going to just run to _her_."

"Her? This isn't about Hermione." Draco twisted his wrists painfully, still discreetly working on freeing himself. What he would do once he was given that freedom was unknown. She was armed, clearly not in her right state of mind, and he didn't have a weapon of any kind.

"DON'T SAY HER NAME!" Padma screeched, her hand tightening around the blade's handle as she pointed it menacingly at the paramour in front of her. "She… she doesn't deserve you like _I_ do. She doesn't _know _you, Draco, or understand what you _need_." Brown eyes twinkled as she looked at him, a far away gleam in them as if she were being whisked away to a twisted daydream of the two of them being together.

Draco's tongue darted out to moisten his lips, his heart beat thundering underneath his ribs as he stayed perfectly still. While he had assumed that Padma wouldn't dare hurt him any further, he was beginning to lose confidence in that theory, especially when she had pulled a blade out of her heeled boot.

"Padma… did you hurt her?"

Snapping out of her daydream, Padma's nose wrinkled in disdain at his question, and she let out a bark of annoyance before spinning on her heel and stalked towards the table and chair that sat before him. "_Did you hurt her?_" She mocked before slamming her knife into the soft wood so aggressively it stood on end. "No, I didn't bloody harm your precious Mudblood. I should have, though! This was supposed to be _our_ year! I've been leaving you notes, hoping you'd figure it out, but instead of trying to find your true love, you start dating _her_."

* * *

**14 February 2000**

**9:52pm**

"Harry! HARRY!" Hermione called frantically as she tumbled out of the fireplace and onto the parlor rug at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Her mind felt like it had been on fast forward since she'd left Malfoy Enterprises. She had left without uttering a single word to Alfie. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, but it was obvious this was going to be more complex than the elderly man would be equipped to deal with. She stumbled away from the fading green flames, her heels wobbling as she crossed the threshold from the fireplace to carpet. She didn't even bother to remove the soot that had collected on her clothing as she stepped further into the room looking for her best friend. She needed his help. _Draco_ needed his help.

Since Harry's home was still under the_ Fidelius_ charm and also heavily warded, Hermione had had to apparate back to her flat from Draco's building so she could use her private Floo connection. It was a necessary safety precaution for the man who twice defeated Voldemort, but it was costing her valuable minutes that she didn't know if she had to spare. Draco was missing and obviously injured if the bloodied picture frame was any indication of his current state. She needed help. She needed someone who wouldn't freak out when she explained that she'd been seeing Draco, so that immediately eliminated Ron. She definitely needed Harry.

"Harry!" she shouted again, pulse pounding in her ears as her eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room. She moved quickly through the parlour, manoeuvring through the house with a comfortable ease. Where was he?! It was bloody Valentine's Day! Ginny had told her they were staying in this year. Moving down the hallway, she nearly tripped over the damn troll's foot umbrella stand in her haste as she made it to the tapestry room and swung the door open.

"Harr—Oh my goodness!" She stumbled back from the door, her hands lifting instantly to shield her eyes as a deep crimson blush crept up her cheeks. "Uh… I'm so sorry! But—"

"Mione?!" Harry croaked as he yanked a fallen blanket from the ground to shield himself and Ginny, who had definitely not been wearing much of anything as she straddled her husband's lap. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

"I told you we should have locked the Floo!" The redhead hissed at her husband before the sound of her fist smacking the side of his shoulder echoed around them.

"I'm sorry! I would have sent word but—but—" Her voice quivered as she tried to bring herself to say it. She could feel tears well in the bottom corners of her eyes as she dropped her head to look down at the toes of her heels. "Fuck. Harry—I didn't know where else to go."

She couldn't make out the whispered words between her friends that followed, but moments later she heard Harry's heavy footsteps come towards her, and the heavy creak of the tapestry room door was followed by the thud of it shutting behind Ginny. "Hermione, what's going on?"

Hermione dropped her hand to look up at her friend. His hair was a mess, his lips still kiss-swollen, a smear of Ginny's pink lipstick stained the side of his neck, but despite his disheveled appearance, his eyes shone with concern. When his hand touched her shoulder, giving her a comforting squeeze, she felt the first few tears slip down her cheeks. She wasn't normally an emotional witch; she was level headed and clever. She didn't act impulsively! She planned things out, but everything about her relationship with Draco had sent her topsy-turvy. There was nothing logical about their attraction. They just worked. And if he was hurt—or worse, dead—she couldn't take it. They had just started figuring out how to blend their lives together! They were finally supposed to tell their friends and families about their relationship. Tonight should have been the first time they were seen romantically together in public, dammit!

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, brow furrowed with worry as he took Hermione into his arms, pulling her into a tight comforting hold. It was only when his hand ran across the zipper to her black cocktail dress that he realised what she was wearing. "What happened? You don't usually show up unexpectedly and never wearing—" He stopped, flustered, his hand still stroking up and down her spine as he tried to calm her down. "—well, wearing something like this."

"Harry, please," Hermione cried, her face pressing into his chest. "I need your help. It's Draco. Something happened to him."

"Draco?"

"—there was so much blood! And his office was a wreck. He was late—later than normal and—"

"Whoa, wait. What?!"

"—I went to his office but—but something happened! He's gone. I know something terrible has happened, and we need to find him. He needs to be okay."

Harry held Hermione at arm's length, his grip firm on her shoulders as he leveled their eyes. "Hermione, stop," he commanded, green eyes searching hers. "You need to calm down… and start at the beginning. What the bloody hell are you doing with Malfoy on Valentine's Day!?"

* * *

**28 December 1999**

**11:32pm**

When Draco had accepted the invitation to Padma's little book club, he'd never envisioned it would end like this. He thought he'd show up, pop in for the obligatory fifteen minutes before coming up with some excuse to leave early, and have the rest of his night to read through the Shrivelfink's acquisition deal in preparation for tomorrow's meeting. What he did not expect was to walk in and be greeted by the stunning sight of the Golden Girl. She had—matured. It wasn't like he hadn't seen photos of her since the war, but it was obvious the camera did her zero justice. She was fit. Her massive mane of curls almost seemed appealing now instead of bothersome. Life post war had clearly been kind to the famous witch. What he also did not expect was to enjoy her company. She was witty—funny even! And she kept his attention through the whole bloody mess of book club.

He hadn't even read the damn thing, but he hung off her every word. When Padma adjourned the get together, he quickly declined her offer for a night cap and instead hurried to catch up to the curly haired witch who had slipped out seconds earlier. Ever the gentleman, he had insisted he walk her home.

That was how this all started: a copy of _Where the Wild Things Roam: Following My Father's Footsteps_ by Jacob Scamander and a silly little book club in Padma's cramped apartment on a Tuesday night. By the following Tuesday, Hermione and Draco had agreed to meet before book club to share a drink at the Leaky. They brought the books with all intentions of heading to Padma's flat on time, but somehow they were left long forgotten on the table when their date ended—well, after the rest of the club members had returned to their homes after the meeting.

One date led to two, and then suddenly, before either of them could wrap their heads around what was happening, he was dividing time between her flat and his, and they were taking dinners in his office on the nights he had to work late. This thing he had with Hermione was easy. It felt right, even if he wasn't quite ready to go public with their relationship yet. He wanted to savor it, enjoy the secret meetings and dates in Muggle London for a few months longer. Once it became public knowledge that they were together, the press was going to go as bonkers as a Wildfire Whiz-bang and that would be the end of their privacy.

"Hermione," Draco sighed from her bed. His back was pressed against her quilted headboard, the lavender comforter pooling around his waist. Reaching up, he pulled the pair of readers from the bridge of his nose and set them in his lap next to where Crookshanks lay curled into a tight fluffy ball. "Why is this so difficult for you? You've just spent Yule with my bloody parents! You know I'm serious about you, even if they and the rest of the world don't know the extent of our relationship. Who gives a shite what everyone else thinks ?" He was blaming this whole bloody argument on Lavender Brown and the fucking interview he did for her today.

"_I _give a shite, Malfoy! Because we've been dating since March. Bloody _March._ Nine months. And yet you're perfectly willing to be featured in Witch Weekly as an eligible bachelor!" she called from the bathroom were she had been washing her face and brushing her teeth. Her nightly routine. Draco never understood her reasoning for insisting on using the muggle "toothbrush" when they had perfectly good spells that could do the work in an instant, but it was clearly a habit the witch wasn't going to break any time soon.

Draco heard the sound of her flannel being thrown in the sink, and he let out a soft long-suffering sigh. This argument wasn't going to end anytime soon, which meant that any plans he had had about finishing up some work would need to wait until the next day. Shutting the manila folder, he gave Crookshanks an affectionate scratch on the top of his head before leaning over to set his glasses and paperwork on what he was beginning to think of as his nightstand. "I am well aware of how long we've been dating, _Granger_, but thank you for the reminder, darling."

Hermione's head stuck out of the bathroom doorway, her chestnut curls resembling a bird's nest on the crown of her head and she narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't do that," she warned as she pointed her finger at his accusingly. "You can't call me by my last name and act all bloody charming and think I'll just forgive you."

"Forgive me? I'm not even asking for your forgiveness!"

"Good! Because you're not getting it!"

"Good! I didn't bloody do anything wrong." Draco sighed, tossing his hands up in the air. He'd dated his fair share of witches, but this almost domestic turn to their relationship was baffling. They had agreed to keep it discreet from the beginning. Some weeks, she was still fine with their arrangement, but others she seemed perturbed by the idea. In truth, if she just bloody asked him to go public instead of acting like some medusa, he would. He would have Padma call his public relations team and handle the details of the announcement. He would book the best photographer that galleons could buy and have their image on the cover of every bloody magazine if that's what it took. But it was the principle of it now. He wasn't going to bloody rearrange the stars without her simply telling him she was ready for the next level of their relationship.

Hermione gave a soft _hmph_ noise in protest, her lips pursing together before she disappeared back into the bathroom to finish her routine, leaving Draco to wait patiently for her to return. He knew this wasn't over, as it was never this quick with her. He didn't particularly enjoy arguing with her, but there was a small part of him that delighted when he watched her nose wrinkle mid-row. Or the way her curls grew larger and larger during the fight, like they were mimicking her growing emotions. His favorite part, though, was without a doubt the making up: the rough, toe-curling, bruising sex that left him brainless. That was by far worth having any sort of fight with her.

Draco's finger idly stroked through Crookshanks' fur, causing the elderly feline's purr to rumble to life. When they'd first started dating, the ball of ginger fur did little but hiss and bat at him. Draco couldn't blame the beast; he wasn't exactly fond of cats. But now that they'd settled into a routine, more often than not Crookshanks found comfort in his lap. Hermione often told the cat he was a traitor, but Draco just reasoned the cat was smart. Switching sides to the person who bribed you with Grindylow treats was probably the best plan of action—if you were a cat, of course.

The light from the bathroom flicked off, and Hermione emerged seconds later. She was dressed in a pair of his boxers that had been rolled up on her hips and a baggy, faded Chudley Canon's t-shirt. He hated that damn shirt and had almost thrown it out on several occasions when he stayed the night, but the way it appeared almost see through in the dim light of her bedroom made it tolerable. At least until he could convince her to start wearing his old Falmouth Falcon's apparel.

Hermione moved across the room in silence towards her side of the bed and folded back the covers. As she began to crawl across the king size bed to her spot next to him, Draco reached across the mattress and dragged her over his lap, her thighs coming to rest on either side of his hips.

His hands stayed at her waist, dipping just beneath the hem of her top and skimming against her bare skin. He pulled her closer so she straddled his waist, his trademark smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth when she set her hands on his shoulders. "Don't be upset."

"I'm not upset," Hermione lied. She kept her eyes locked on the ceiling, refusing to meet his gaze despite the fact she was leaning into his touch. "I'm pissed."

Draco chuckled, his head shaking just slightly as he leaned further back into her cushioned headboard. "I didn't ask them to write that bloody article. If you want, I'll call up Lavender and have her scrap the whole thing. They can choose someone else—anyone else," he began, his thumbs sweeping softly against the velvet-like skin of her hips "Maybe I can convince her to do a piece on Longbottom? Hogwarts' Most Alluring Professor."

Hermione let out a snort, and despite her best efforts, the sides of her lips pulled up in a smile. "I don't think Professor Flitwick would be happy being passed over," Hermione added before letting her eyes find his. She gave him a small shake of her head as she relaxed into his hold, her fingers touching the hair on the back of his head. "No. Don't cancel it. I just—it's just that—"

Draco watched her struggle to find the words, grey eyes softening, and before she could say anything else, he leaned forward and pulled her into a sweet kiss. His right hand cupped her cheek while his left pressed guided her body to press flat against his. He felt her relax in his hold, all rigidity vanishing with a soft sigh against his mouth. His nose brushed against hers as he broke the unexpected kiss, his thumb sweeping across the apple of her cheek. "After the article comes out… once the fanfare dies out, we'll announce it. We'll let them photograph us, and we'll make some stupid statement to the _Prophet _about dating and whatever nonsense that comes along with it. But you have to promise me something."

He felt Hermione's heart flutter against his chest, the wild thump thrilling him more than she would ever realise. "What's that?"

Draco paused, his eyes searching her face. He watched a soft blush creep across her cheeks, her desire for them to go public lifting to the surface of her eyes. He really shouldn't tease her, not when the topic was obviously so important to her—but he couldn't help it. He was going to arrange for their relationship to be announced, so he could have a little fun in the process. "Promise me that after we go public, I finally get to shag you in my office."

* * *

**14 February 2000**

**10:09pm**

"So, tell me again. You've been dating Malfoy—"

"Draco."

"I'm not calling him that."

"But it's his name."

"Doesn't matter," Harry quipped as they rode the lift up to the sixteen floor of Malfoy Enterprises. "Anyway. You've been dating him since _March_?" He'd been trying to wrap his mind around this, if that was even bloody possible. He and Hermione ate lunch together once a week, and then they were usually at the Burrow every Sunday for Weasley family dinner. How had she gone almost an entire bloody year dating someone without him noticing? He vowed to himself to keep a better eye on her. She was obviously far more secretive and sneaky than he remembered. It clearly must be a side effect of dating a Slytherin.

"We're definitely going to have to talk about how you've been hiding things from me for almost a year. You know that, right?" Harry stated, trying to ease some of Hermione's anxiety by distracting her from what was on the other side of the lift's doors. He looked at her, his attempt to raise one eyebrow in silent judgement failing miserably as instead both eyebrows lifted behind his dark framed lenses.

Hermione's nervous energy didn't subside with Harry's friendly chastising. She continued to gnaw on her bottom lip, the lipstick she'd coated them with hours before in preparation of her special date long gone. She spun her vine wood wand in the fingers of her right hand as she shifted her weight back and forth between the balls of her feet and her heels.

"Can we please just find him first, Harry?" She snapped, concern for Drago only intensifying with every _fucking_ minute they wasted in what today appeared to be the world's slowest lift. All of these safety measures preventing anyone from gaining unwanted access to the offices of Malfoy Enterprises sure hadn't bloody worked to keep her boyfriend safe, dammit. Once she found Draco and made sure he was fine, you could damn well bet they were going to have a conversation about rethinking accessibility and safety.

Harry was saved from having to reply to her request when finally the metal doors opened and Hermione practically ran into the lobby she had become so familiar with over the past year. Harry followed closely behind, his head turning as he surveyed the space. She watched as his whole demeanor changed. Harry immediately straightened his posture, spine lengthening and shoulders squaring. His eyes lost their mischievous glint, and his mouth hardened as he looked at the scene, taking in every detail while attempting to put together the big picture. Gone was her best friend; in his place was a highly skilled Auror.

They moved silently through the lobby and into Draco's office, only the sound of Harry's boots and her heels snapping against the tile accompanying them. Hermione watched as Harry crossed the threshold to the office, careful to avoid touching the door or disturbing any of the mess as he looked around.

"You said you were here earlier today–before any of this?" Harry asked, waving his left hand at the crooked desk and strewn held his wand in his right hand, silently casting a spell around the room.

"I came by at lunch to remind Draco about the time of our reservation. He's always late—tonight was important to me," Hermione explained, her hands smoothing the wrinkles from her once-pristine black dress nervously.

"And it didn't look like this?"

"If it did, don't you think I would have gotten you earlier?" Hermione snapped before she could prevent it from slipping out. When Harry shot her a sharp look over his shoulder, she let out a heavy sigh. She shouldn't be short with him. This wasn't his fault. It wasn't like he kidnapped Draco. "Everything was normal. Tidy even. His assistant was out so he didn't really have much on his desk from what I saw," Hermione explained, watching the periwinkle mist from Harry's wand travel around the room, touching every item before moving on to the next. "What are you doing?"

"Checking for magical signatures. It's common practice at any new crime scene, though it doesn't always tell us much in the beginning. Right now, I'm picking up two strong magical identities. One male—definitely feels like the Ferret if the smugness is anything to go by. The other is female. Methodical, no nonsense–but, almost… intense, maybe? It's strange. It feels vaguely familiar, like I've come across it before. But it's different somehow." Harry's brow furrowed as tried to put his finger on why this magical signature felt so damn familiar. It wasn't Hermione's; he would have been able to spot hers the second the spell was cast but something about it made him think of Hogwarts. The same feeling he got walking onto the castle grounds scratched at the edge of his soul.

"Methodical and intense?" Hermione questioned, but she did not bother to wait for Harry to respond before continuing. "That's definitely Padma."

"Patil?" Harry's head cocked to the side, not lifting his emerald eyes from watching his spell work around the room.

"Yeah. She's Draco's assistant and practically lives here just like him. Her magic probably feels familiar to you because Parvati was in all of our classes back at Hogwarts, and familial magic is usually quite similar," Hermione said, rocking on her heels again as her impatience grew, anxious to be actually doing something worthwhile instead of standing around measuring the magic of people who fucking worked here.

"But you said she was out today?" Harry moved across the room towards the picture frame, where a cloud of periwinkle hung over the frame-turned-weapon. Crouching over the concentration of magic, Harry lowered his wand and softly whispered an enchantment . Almost instantly, the cloud of magic disappeared. It was like something inside it erupted and an outpouring of glittering gold magic slipped across the room, covering the carpet in a temporary blanket before it sunk into the fibers. It took several seconds, but gold shimmering footsteps began to appear on the carpeted floor behind Hermione. Everytime he cast that particular spell, the footprints reminded Harry of the Marauder's map. They were just the basic outline of a shoe print, but, unlike the map, these prints were the actual size of the person who created them.. Whoever had been walking through the room was obviously female—or a very petite man.

"Uh, yeah. She was" Hermione's eyes went wide as she looked around the room, watching the auror's magic reveal hidden clues about that happened in here earlier. She quickly sidestepped out of the way when the footprint path led straight to where she was standing. The small footprints stopped before Draco's desk where they were met by a larger pair of prints that had come from behind the large piece of mahogany furniture.

Harry remained silent, watching the story unfold. The footprints revealed a struggle; the smaller set was the initiator if he had to guess. A burst of heavy magic splashed on the carpet right where the picture frame landed and showed the three dimensional form of a body—Malfoy's body— laying in a heap on the floor. Suddenly it was gone, leaving only a single pair of footprints.

"She levitated him," Harry mumbled to Hermione, who he could sense was on the verge of asking a million questions.

Hermione couldn't move; her body felt like lead. Who could do this? Why would—but Padma wasn't here! Her mind swirled with unanswered questions. As the single set of footprints made their way out of Draco's office and back through the lobby, Hermione didn't hesitate to follow. She could hear Harry behind her, close on her trail until they stood in front of the elevator lift. "How long does this spell last ?"

Harry jammed the button, emerald eyes flashing to his best friend standing only inches behind the magical footprints. "Depends on how old the crime scene is—" The doors to the lift chimed open and the pair stepped inside, Harry's hand instinctively touching Hermione's back. "—this one seems a few hours old . So If I had to wager, we have another ten or fifteen minutes. Tops."

Hermione's heart hammered in her chest, brown eyes glued to the glittering pair of footprints inches from her. Ten minutes? That was it? Someone hadn't come up with a modifier to make the spell last longer? Merlin, they had bloody _magic_. Why was this not thought of yet?

The pair followed the golden footsteps from the lift and past the snoozing security guard. Just when Hermione thought they were going to turn towards the double doors that led to Diagon Alley, they instead took a sharp turn left and headed towards the stairwell that descended to the basement.

Hermione struggled to keep up with the brisk pace the golden footprints set, her ankles wobbling in her heels as she double-stepped to keep up. "Fuck this." she cursed before pausing to remove the red stilettos. She left them in the middle of the lobby as if they were glued to the floor, one in front of another. Finally free from her encumbering footwear, her bare feet slapped against the cold tile as she ran to catch up to Harry, whose cloak tails swirled behind him when he moved through the doorway.

They made it down the staircase in record time, her heartbeat thumping wildly within her chest. She couldn't tell if it was from adrenaline or anxiety, but what she did know was the muscle memory from her time on the run returned quicker than she would have ever anticipated. She moved two paces behind Harry, her vine wood wrapped tightly in her grip in preparation for whatever lay ahead.

* * *

**14 February 2000**

**10:09pm**

"Padma, stop. Listen—whatever you want, I'll do it, but just let me go. We can figure this out together." Draco pleaded, his voice hoarse, catching in his throat as his muscles tightened in fear.

Padma didn't respond at first, concentrating on the knife in her hand as she approached Draco, only coming to a stop once she was standing between his knees. She caressed the metal blade lovingly, running her fingers up over the point, testing for sharpness. Finally she looked up, her disturbed brown eyes meeting his stormy gray irises. The right side of her mouth quirked up in what he supposed was meant to be a smirk, but the shiny puckered skin of her scar mangled the expression into something much more sinister. Over the past few years, Draco had come to not even notice the disfigurement—earned in the Battle of Hogwarts fighting Mulciber—but tonight it stuck out in great contrast to the rest of her skin, turning the woman he thought he had known into a villainous clone of herself.

"Whatever I want? But I already have that, Drakey. I finally have you, don't I?"

Padma placed the tip of the knife in the hollow of Draco's throat, running it slowly up his neck. Its sharp point ran over his Adam's apple, leaving a red line in its wake as she forced him to tilt his head back until their gaze met. As is fear grew more prominent and the beads of sweat on his forehead ran down his temples, the excitement in her eyes grew. She trailed the blade up over his chin to end its journey just below his bottom lip. They stayed like that for a moment, frozen in time, and before Draco could make a move to beg her again, she wound her free hand into his oxford and pulled him closer toward her as she slashed the knife down the length of the distended shirt, sending buttons flying as she revealed his lithe form beneath. Twisting the blade between her fingers, she admired her handiwork as she took a step back. "Beautiful," she whispered, "just like I imagined."

Draco lifted his head from its reclined position and looked frantically down at his chest, heart racing as he expected the pain to hit him at any second. Instead of the expected blood, he only saw the smooth expanse of his pale, toned chest exposed beneath the shirt Padma had sliced open.

"Did you think I hurt you, love?" Padma giggled, and the tinkling laughter did little to settle Draco's racing heart. "I wouldn't hurt you—yet. You still have a chance to prove to me that you're as worthy as I thought you were before you went and dallied with that Mudblood _whore_." As she spoke, Padma ran her left hand over his chest and belly, pulling the sides of his ruined shirt further apart so as to have an unobstructed view of him. Her fingers traced the muscles of his abdomen and pectorals, finally running over his right nipple, tweaking it in a perverted parody of a lover's touch.

Draco tried to curl away from her cruel touch, unsuccessfully muffling his hiss of pain.

The knife, which had been dangling idly from the fingers of Padma's right hand, rested against the placket of his trousers as she moved between his parted thighs. She slowly began to run the flat side of the cursed blade against the fabric that covered his limp cock as if trying to stir his manhood to life. Padma bent her torso and lowered her head to catch Draco's lips with hers.

Draco's eyes widened when he realised her intent, and at the last possible second, he turned his face to the left, letting her lips brush against the corner of his mouth and plant a rough kiss against his stubbled cheek.

It was obvious Padma wasn't willing to admit defeat, continuing the kiss as though he hadn't moved, nuzzling the side of his face and flicking her tongue across his skin, smearing what remained of her red lipstick on him.

Draco stayed still, his eyes slammed shut. How could this bloody be happening? He was supposed to be with his girlfriend. He was _supposed_ to be gifting her the key to his flat and asking her to move in, not receiving a saliva facial from his psychotic receptionist.

Finally growing frustrated at his lack of response to her advances, Padma pulled back from him, her eyes flashing in anger and her mouth twisting monstrously in her rage. The knife clattered to the cold cement floor, forgotten.

Draco turned his head to look at her, praying that maybe some sort of sense returned to her. Just as she came back into his line of sight, the sharp force and sting of a slap snapped his head roughly to the left once more.

"Look what you made me do!" Padma shrieked at him, her hot breath invading his personal space as she roughly forced him to look at her by grasping his cheek between her thumb and index finger. "Your lovely ivory skin is marred now—red and ruined! If I wanted something ruined, I'd just look in the fucking mirror!"

Draco winced when she stroked the red-hot side of his cheek, her fingers brushing over his still swollen eye. "I-It's okay, darling. I forgive you. It's Valentine's Day, after all," Draco attempted to reason, doing his best to level his voice with the charm he normally reserved for her. "Why don't you undo these binds, love, and we can just spend some time together? We can put this—this violence behind us and have a nice chat."

"Valentine's Day?! _Fuck Valentine's Day_, Drac., I love you every damn day. I don't need a special day to show you how I feel. I've been showing you all year, hoping you would notice me and see how perfect we would be together. Why do you think I've worked so hard for you these past few years? Staying late and finishing all your filing? Making all your appointments and scheduling all your important meetings, making myself indispensable to you? The poems, the love notes, the _fucking roses_!"

Padma took a shuddering breath, reaching down to pick up her knife from the floor. "I thought you were playing hard to get. I didn't know you were fucking _her_ behind my back. She was _supposed_ to be my friend, and she stole you from me! Do you know how I felt yesterday?! How bloody stupid I realised I had been when, after months of scheduling those meetings for you two, I finally figured out that they had absolutely nothing to do with your contract with the Ministry? That they were entirely about getting your dick wet?! You—she—you _both_ betrayed me!"

Padma was pacing in front of him now, tears slipping down her cheeks as her emotions overflowed. "I was so happy the two of you became friends after my little book club. I wanted you to like my friends. We were supposed to start our lives together and have dinner parties with them and… and it was so bloody important you met everyone and liked them! And Merlin knows that Hermione needs all the friends she can get—she's not exactly Miss Congeniality. I thought it was perfect. And then you told me you were working with her on some bloody idiotic Ministry initiative. You don't give a shite about Swamp Murtlap Habitat, but I figured it was to help boost your image. I was so bloody stupid. But not anymore. You're going to love me now and forget all about that cow, Hermione Granger."

Draco's forehead wrinkled as he watched Padma back up to the table she'd retrieved the blade from earlier. She snatched what he assumed was her purse and dug around until a heart shaped vial was found. Even in the dark light he could make out a distinct pink potion inside, the mother of pearl sheen making it almost glow in her hand. "Padma, what are you doing?" He gulped, silver eyes growing wide as she sauntered toward him.

"Something I should have done from the start."

* * *

**14 February 2000**

**10.22pm**

"...I should have done from the start."

As Harry and Hermione slowly inched their way down the basement steps, they could hear Padma's raised voice screaming at someone. That had to be a good sign, right? She wouldn't be yelling at Draco if he were unconscious or dead, would she?

Harry was the first to reach the doorway, his wand at the ready as he poked his head into the room before pulling back and leaning against the wall, his mind calculating the best way he could go about disarming Padma without harming Malfoy. He wanted to make sure the prick was not maimed accidentally so that once this was all over and Padma was taken care of, he could bloody punch the ferret in the face himself for sneaking around with his best friend behind his back. While lost in thought, he didn't even notice Hermione slip past him and into the room until it was too late.

"You bitch!" Hermione snapped across the room, bare feet slapping against the cement flooring. Her wand was pointed directly at the love potion Padma was planning to use on Draco. "_Expelliarmus!"_

The heart shaped vial instantly flew out of Padma's hands and smashed to the ground beside Hermione's feet .

Draco's head turned towards the noise, trying to crane behind him to see what was going on. "Hermione?!"

The shock on Padma's face quickly morphed into unbridled anger when she noticed the longing in Draco's voice, her nostrils flaring. Before Hermione could release another spell, she had her wand pointed at the curly haired witch, a hex already forming on her lips. "_Stupefy!"_

The red spell sliced through the air, causing Draco's head to snap back to Padma. "No!" The sound of Hermione's body falling to the floor followed after the crack of magic hitting its target echoed around the room. Twisting his arms, Draco yanked at his restraints violently. No no no! This wasn't bloody happening.

Padma ignored the pleas from the blonde wizard, instead grabbing the cursed dagger from the table behind her, brown eyes glazed over with madness as she clutched it menacingly. She moved towards the incapacitated witch who lay prone just past her love. She needed to pay for what she did. She stole Draco away. She ruined everything.

"Padma, stop! Please, fucking _stop!_" Draco shouted as writhed in the chair, rocking it as much as he could to try to turn himself so he could see her. Merlin, if they made it out of this in one piece he was going to do anything he could to make it up to Hermione. She had told him not to ignore those love letters, but they seemed too bloody innocent to give much thought. He was never going to live this down—of that he was certain—but he wouldn't mind the constant reminder from his girlfriend as long as it meant she was fucking okay.

Padma's heels snapped loudly against the cement as she moved around Draco, completely ignoring his requests. She had just made it out of his line of sight when a familiar baritone broke the silence of the room.

"_Stupefy!"_

A burst of bright red light illuminated the room before another spell was commanded.

"_Incarcerous!"_

The rapid-fire spell casting would have normally been something to marvel, as most wizards usually needed a small break between spellwork, but then again, most wizards were not the boy wonder he'd held a grudge against since adolescence

Once the magical ropes were secure around Padma, Harry ran across the room, sliding to his knees beside Hermione who was already beginning to sit up, her hand rubbing her side where the spell hit.

"What the bloody hell were you thinking, 'Mione!?" Harry scolded, dropping his wand to the ground next to him so he could clasp her shoulders, scanning her face and figure for injuries.

"Is she okay!?" Draco shouted, rocking violently in the chair in an attempt to turn it so he could see what happened to his girlfriend. "Potter, answer me!" he snapped when Harry didn't answer quickly enough.

"I'm fine!" Hermione shouted to Draco, her voice cracking as she tried her best to shrug out of Harry's grasp. "I'm fine, Harry." It wasn't necessarily a lie—she had definitely experienced worse—but the pain in her side throbbed. It radiated through every inch of her body, but the adrenaline coursing through her veins helped dull the ache. Hermione winced as she pushed out of Harry's hold and snatched her fallen wand from the ground before standing up. She moved quickly towards Draco, ignoring Harry's plea to stop moving and let him perform diagnostics on her.

Draco's heart pounded in his ears, listening to the rustling behind him to try and assess what was going on. Under normal circumstances he would never agree with Potter, but right now it seemed like Scarhead's interests aligned with his own.

"Hermione, listen to him! I'll still be right here in the two bloody minutes it takes for the results to come back!" But it was obvious she didn't pay attention to either man when he heard her cast _Finite Incantatum_ on his bindings, releasing his wrists. Launching himself out of the chair, Draco turned to wrap his girlfriend in his arms, his hands smoothing across her semi-tamed curls as his eyes danced across her face. "Bloody hell, Granger."

Hermione's hands trembled as she clung to the torn oxford barely concealing his chest. "I told you—I told you it was more than just a fucking innocent fan!" She scolded, brown eyes softening as she took in the blood and swelling on his head. "You're a bloody fool, Draco Malfoy. I can't believe you let it get this far and never reported anything to the aurors. I was so fucking worried about you." Her voice caught, throat swelling with unshed tears as her hand rose to touch the side of his face, fingertips running across the purple beside his eyes.

Draco laughed, unable to contain it despite the seriousness of the situation. Only she would feel the need to scold him after a life-threatening situation. Turning his head towards her hand, he pressed light kisses to her palm, his nose nudging against her affectionately. "You're right," he agreed.

"What?" Hermione questioned, astounded that he was actually agreeing with her.

"You're right. I was wrong," he murmured, his hand snaking around her waist to rest on her lower back. "I should have listened to you—" Before he could continue, Hermione leaned up on the tips of her toes and pressed her lips to his to silence any further words. He molded their bodies together, his mouth slanting over hers as his hands dropped, sliding across the full skirt of her dress until they cupped her arse. His thumbs swept the fabric, feeling the cut of her panties hidden underneath.

Gently breaking the kiss, Draco pulled back with a wide smile and cocked brow, the usually charming look losing something amidst the blood and discoloured flesh. He watched as a soft pink blush crept across his girlfriend's cheeks. "Are these the green ones?" he questioned a bit louder than was polite, but he'd already forgotten about Harry listening as he stood a few feet away next to the incapacitated Padma.

"It's Valentine's Day." Hermione shrugged, teeth biting at her bottom lip coyly. "I wanted to surprise you."

Draco's head lowered, his mouth pressing into hers once more as he gave her arse a small squeeze through the fabric of her dress. Feeling Hermione's moan against his lips, Draco deepened the kiss, bringing his right hand up to cup the back of her head, his left still kneading her arse.

"Merlin's balls, that's enough!" Harry called over to the pair, his hand lifting to shield his eyes. "I gather that this—" His wand hand gestured towards them blindly. "—has been going on for quite some time, but it's still new to me, and I definitely don't need to witness it."

The couple pulled apart, Hermione sheepishly looking at her best friend while Draco only smiled and raised a single brow. Borrowing Hermione's wand, he cast a quick _Tempus, _having lost all sense of time while locked in the dark basement.

"I'm sorry our plans were ruined this evening, but there's still an hour left of Valentine's Day, Granger. Can I make it up to you?" He playfully leered kneading her thong clad arse once for good measure.

Hermione involuntarily let out a small, feminine squeal at the contact, and, glaring haughtily at her boyfriend—her gorgeous, caring, constantly late, woefully battered boyfriend—she responded.

"You can try."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Beta: Ravenslight


End file.
